Never Giving In
by XxBlackButterflyxX
Summary: Hermione has been kidnapped and tortured for months for information. George has recently been kidnapped, about to see all the horrors Hermione has faced. They will never give in under the pain, but they want to survive. Together they will try and live and escape from Voldemort's clutches.
1. Alive and Hurting

It's dark and cold in the little dungeon cell. There's a steady dripping noise coming from the corner caused by a leak in the ceiling. Other than that consent steady drip, the place has an eerie silence about it. No movements, no voices. Not even the sounds of tortured screams vibrate through the darkness. This indicates that it must be very late at night. Perhaps midnight? Perhaps even later? Maybe it's very early in the morning? At times the yelling goes long into the night. But thankfully, although slightly disturbing, the quiet is welcome.

Hermione Granger curls her numb toes against the cracking stone floor and rubs the sleep from her eyes. There's a pounding in the back of her head and her chest feels sore and heavy when she takes a breath. She stands, leaning against the wall, feeling weak. She closes her eyes and drinks in the silence that probably won't last more than an hour. Usually the noises kept her awake and afraid, but the pause for the last couple of hours allowed sleep to overtake her fear. Now a little less sleep deprived, she's ready to try and once again find a flaw in this cell that will let her out.

Around the edges of the walls with her feet, firmly wiggling each steal bar, touching each crack in reach, and trying to pick the charmed lock till her fingertips bleed. Again, no flaw was found. Hermione flies back away from the bars as the first sound of the morning echoes around her. The sound of jingling keys and booted footsteps. A harsh cry splits the air. It seems someone's already having a horrific day.

A shadowed figure stops in front of her door and the silver keys glint menacingly. The anxiety wave that overcomes her is intense. Her stomach ties in knots, her heart pounds so hard it hurts, and she can feel herself start to shake. They have come for her early today; usually she was the one screaming late at night when her torturers could take out their frustrations of the day on her. The unusualness was terrifying. What if they thought of new ways to get information out of her?

The cell opened with a squeal and a large gloved hand reached in and grabbed her by the collar of her thin black T-shirt. Her heart raced as she was pulled out of the small security of her cell. As scared as she was, she knew better than to resist. If she did, she would become a quivering bloody mess on the cold floor, already sore before her torture begins. She had tried it once before, it had been agony by the time she was sent back to her cell. She had passed out and had not woken up until the came to drag her out again hours later.

The large man with the keys opened the door at the top of the stairs he had lead her up. Hermione squinted at the blinding early morning sunrise peaking in through the large windows. It hurt so much after being in almost pitch black for so long, it made her big brown eyes water lightly. She blinked it away and her eyes focused as she was being seated and tied to a heavy wooden chair. Wrists to its thick wooden arms, ankles to its hard wooden legs, and waist to its cold back; it was a feeling she was slowly becoming accustomed to. For good reason it sent an army of panic each time the final knot was finished.

Which is what was happening to her now. She felt like she was going to be sick. She may have been if there had been anything in her, but she hadn't eaten in about three days and had only gotten any water from the puddle the dripping ceiling made on her cell floor. Hermione bowed her head, trying to fight off the wave of nauseous panic. She dug her short finger nails into the wood of the chair, breaking two of her nails and causing a dull pain.

"Hermione?" a voice whispered

She flinched, but this voice did not sound vicious like the ones she was used to. It sounded familiar even, soft and a bit disbelieving. A warm finger touched under her chin, bringing her face up to another. Her jaw dropped against that finger, her eyes widened further making them look even larger.

"George!" her voice came out cracked and rough. The only times she ever used her voice nowadays was when she was pushed into a screaming fit by torture or nightmares. "What... how… you—are you okay?" she stammered out, her voice cracking again at the end. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but it was out there now. Her mind was racing. How did he get here? How long has he been here? Is he okay?

"For now. They just got me this morning, damned buggers. But you! You're alive, Hermione!" he blared, smiling goofily at her. She didn't understand how he could be so happy. Did he not understand what was about to happen to them?

"George, listen! You're not tied up; you have to get out of here. Go before—" before she could finish, the door crashed open and Bellatrix Lestrange emerged from the doorway. George slowly released her chin and casually put his hands behind his back.

"Ms. Strange, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he said sarcastically, nodding his head in Bellatrix's direction.

Her venom black eyes flicked him up and down and her ridiculous curls bobbed on her head as she tapped her foot. Bellatrix spins around to the two big men that stood behind her. She sneers at them and they stare at her, confused.

"You _imbeciles!_ You've brought me the wrong _Weasley!_" she snarls with a slap on each mans' chubby face. "Out! Get _out! _Before I throw you in chairs alongside her!"

"I personally think I'm a wonderful Weasley," George challenged as the two men hurried out, closing the door behind them. Bellatrix eyed him quietly. With a flick of her wand George ended up in the same arrangement as Hermione, they were face to face.

"I'm looking for a Ronald Bilius Weasley. And you seem to be the older brother. The twin. Whether you are the one that starts with an 'F' or a 'G' I do not care. You are not correct and need to be disposed of!" she ranted as she circled them, like a lioness about to go in for the kill. "_But_, my thought has said to keep you when everyone else wanted to kill you. You see-"she leaned in close to the side of Georges face. He wouldn't look at her; he stared straight ahead, keeping his hazel eyes on Hermione. "I think you have information. You may not be the closest link, but you are close. Close enough to tell me what I need to know. Now tell me like a good little twin, where is the Order located? What about Ronald? Or more importantly, tell me… where is Harry Potter?" she said the last part delicately. Almost as if she thought a sweeter voice would persuade him to tell her anything. Her thought process seemed to be that George was a man and could never resist it when a girl puts on a sweet voice. But Bellatrix was not sweet. She was a vile creature and George wasn't that kind of person.

"I don't believe I know what you're talking about," he answered nonchalantly. Hermione couldn't believe how he was staying so calm. She felt as if she were about to fall apart. Her heart was thudding so hard that she was sure Bellatrix could hear it. Hermione tried to plead to George with her eyes, trying to coax him not to joke with her. Something bad was going to happen and she wasn't sure she could take seeing a friend in pain.

Bellatrix grabbed a handful of his shaggy red hair and tilted his face up toward hers. She then slapped him as hard as she could, her black polished nails leaving little nicks in his perfect skin. George never even flinched, his hazel eyes gleamed, full of life even when in deep trouble.

"Now that was rude," he commented, instilling another slap to his cheek. It grew pink, as if he were blushing or cold, but the red nail marks told another story.

She backed away from him and flicked her wand at his chair. The chair lurched backwards and slammed into the white wall behind him. That earned a grimace and Bellatrix replied with a satisfied smug look. She 'humphed' and turned her back to him, placing a hand on each of Hermione's bare forearms. Those menacing nails dug into the white skin, the first part of her good morning torture.

"I have to make time for you missy. You're the one that I know is just booming with information for me. You already know what I want to know so I won't waste time with the boring part. Let's have some _fun!_" Bellatrix cackled and produced her wand. Hermione knows what is coming when Bellatrix twists her right arm over and tightens the ropes. She tries to move, kick, anything, but she can't. The bindings on her are just too tight and she has no energy. Hermione turns her head away from a staring George, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. No one has ever really seen her like this, so helpless, usually she can get herself out of anything. What has she become?

Hermione bites her lip in an attempt to keep quiet. White hot burning pain sputters on her arm as Bellatrix slowly carves another word with her wand. Little tears prick her eyes as she clenches and unclenches her hands, trying to drive the pain away. It's a forever burning pain, it doesn't stop on the first letter as Bellatrix starts the next. She glances down and sees blood positively pouring down from a large freshly cut 'F', the next letter she cannot see. Her torturer creates a fast line through her skin and it pushes her over the edge. Hermione turns her head the other direction and lets out a piercing scream.

George's stomach rolls into a knot at that scream. He has never, ever heard a scream like that before. Pure pain. And he can't even help. He jerks around and tries to bring his arms up to release the ropes, but nothing works. He is left staring at tortured tear filled eyes and hearing sad pain filled screams.

This goes on for two hours. By the end, blood has drenched the wood floor below Hermione's arm. Her face is a pale white and her head keeps swaying backward as if she's about to pass out. Bellatrix runs a clawed finger across the bloody scars she caused, creating a red streak and Hermione shutters at the sting. The woman walks slowly to George, leans down in front of him, and swipes the finger across his cheek. His face goes hard as she licks the rest of it from her finger.

"See you two later," she says sweetly, causing a jolt of disgust to go through George's body.


	2. Filthy Creature

_So, I decided to take my story from speaking in third person to speaking in first person. I wanted a little more personal feeling with Hermione and George, so I'm planning on having the Chapters flip back and forth between points of view. I will write in the beginning who's point of view it will be so no one gets confused (I hope). This chapter is a little short, but it explains a couple things. Thank you for reading!_

_**cathernatural.812**: I'm flattered that you think that first chapter could have been a one-shot! But here's the second one for you and more to come. Thank you!_

_**jamcreynolds**: Thank you! I promise your questions will be answered in future chapters. Hopefully a couple in this little one!_

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**Chapter II: Filthy Creature**

_George's Point of View_

I stumble into a cold cell when some rough man shoves me, but thankfully, I stay on my feet. Sadly not everyone was so lucky. As I turn, Hermione closely follows me and as she's tossed at my feet on the ground. She doesn't move and I can feel my stomach drop in worry. Please be okay Hermione, you've finally been found alive, don't go on me now… I reach out and touch her shoulder; I feel a small twitch of reflex that relieves me. I look up to glare that the man that threw us in such a horrible place. He's charming the door to stay locked, keeping us in here like a couple of wild animals. This man is big in both directions, disgustingly so. His face has a crushed look that gets worse when he sends a cheeky smile in my direction. It's mocking and makes the heat come up to my face in anger, something that is rarely brought out in me. I don't like the feeling.

"Goodnight little filths," the man sneers out, patting the bars to make them clatter as if to scare us. What a pig. I'd like to experiment with pranks on _him!_

As his booted footsteps disappear into the darkness, Hermione stirs under my hand. I flinch back, startled that she has suddenly moved. She staggers when trying to stand, I act on instinct and put an arm around her shoulders. I haul her to her feet, her legs shake and I see her press a hand to her arm. Blood splatters to the stone floor in tiny droplets, I try to pretend not to notice but inside I can feel my heart pounding. Sometimes it's hard to keep my lighthearted demeanor. It's always been easier for my twin. I remember a girl that we both dated at different times telling us that I was the sweet and more sympathetic one and Fred was the tougher and more indifferent one. I couldn't see it then because she was sort of a strange girl that neither of us stayed with any amount of time. But I suppose I have to see it now.

"I think you need to sit for now," I say worriedly. She shakes her head, but I lead her over to a corner anyway. I slump her against the wall and sit next to her right side, the side of her bleeding wound. "Let me look." She folds her arm against her body. "Hermione," I mumble and gently pull her arm to me. I know she doesn't want me to see that she can be hurt, but I have to know. I have to try and help, she would do the same for me any day. For anyone really, that's just how Hermione Granger is.

I can feel her shakiness as I pull it close to me. I don't know whether it's from pain or from not wanting to show me, it keeps me gentle though instead of frantically trying to scrutinize her arm like I want to. I have to hold it close to my face so I can see in the dark but it causes an uneasy shock to go through me. The blood smears look black in this lighting; it still seeps freely from the cuts, falling onto my palms. But the cuts aren't just ordinary random slices, it spells out a word. Well, two words actually. All the way from her wrist to where her arm folds the terrible letters spell—

_Filthy Creature._

It makes me feel sick, but the more I look the more scarring and scabbing old words I can find. _Disgusting. Worthless. Prisoner. Nobody. Vial. Ugly. Animal. Brat. Selfish... _One more hurtful word covers her skin at least five times in different places. It must be Bellatrix's favorite.

_Mudblood._

"Oh, Hermione," I breath. I hope she doesn't actually believe any of these hateful words forced onto her porcelain princess skin. None of them are even true, not even "Mudblood" because that's not the proper term to say to anyone. Not even in a joking way! Whether they come from Muggle parents or not. Bellatrix is cruel.

I rip off the very bottom edge of my shirt, it's a little long on me anyway. I can feel her watching me, curious and studying. Always studying everything. I start to wrap the soft dark green cloth tightly around the word, erasing it from sight and hoping the bleeding will stop with the pressure.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"I can't believe you've been here all this time," I blurt out. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, I quickly tie the ends of my bandage together and let go of her arm. I didn't mean to say that yet, but I really want to know what's been happening here with her all this time. Everyone's been so worried, every joke my brother and I make comes back at us with a sad "Hermione would have laughed". Talk about a mood killer.

"How long has it been?" she asks, turning her face to me. Her big brown eyes look black with her pupils so huge to see in the darkness. I notice other little things about her too. Her face looks thinner in the cheeks, and those thin cheeks have lost its natural pink tint. With no pink tint, her skin looks ashy instead of glowing. Her curls look more tangled then they usually do and have hardly any copper shine. There's a healing split in her bottom lip and a fresh looking bluish bruise on her cheek. There's a bit of dried blood by her left nostril where it had started to drip out, and there are light finger marks imprinted on the sides of her neck. It bothers me how much has changed. It bothers me more than I thought it could.

"It's been… a while. Almost three months I think. Everyone's been miserable. No one will laugh at my jokes!" I try to make a smile appear on her face. It doesn't work. She stares at me with those big eyes and then rests her forehead on my shoulder. It surprises me, but I don't mind, she needs all the comfort she can get right now. I touch the back of her head and lean my own against the cold wall.

"How did they get you?" she mumbles against my shirt.

"Snatchers. I was out in the forest with Fred. Rotten luck… Fred was okay though. He tried to go back for me but I told him to go get help. What about you? None of us are really sure how you disappeared."

"I found someone wounded in the street," she starts timidly. "No one was around, only them. His leg was bleeding everywhere and he was yelling and I didn't know!" she cries out, grabbing my arm and pressing her face harder against it. "I didn't know it was a trap. I leaned down and the person screamed for me to go. But I couldn't, he was losing so much blood... That's when they jumped out of every alley way. I didn't notice at first, and then they made a circle around me. There was no way I could have done anything. No way," she trails off for a moment. I pat the back of her head, urging her to continue. "They killed the man with a curse and dragged me with a blindfold all the way here. When they took the blindfold off, I was in front of Bellatrix Lestrange. I got a few hours of torture and then was sent down here to this cell. It's been this way almost daily since I've been here… I think."

We're both quiet and I let the story turn in my head. Hermione's good heart got her into some deep trouble. Hopefully, we'll find a way to get out together.

We feel asleep together like that against the wall. Tomorrow will be rougher than today.


	3. Mudblood Protector

_Chapter three for you! Stirring a little more connection between the two of them. Thank you for reading!_

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**Chapter III: Mudblood Protector**

_Hermione's Point of View_

I wake up the next day to George missing. I'm in a ball on the cold floor where he was originally sitting. My stomach knots with the fear that my just found friend may be getting hurt somewhere upstairs. To distract myself from any bad thoughts of the morning, I make my way through my morning flaw check. Around the edges of the walls with my feet, firmly wiggling each steal bar, touching each crack in reach, and trying to pick the charmed lock till my fingertips bleed. It has become some sort of obsession to try and fix the problem that's bestowed on me and now George. I'm actually starting to think I may try my routine at night too. What is wrong with me?

The earlier company has put me out of habit of being alone in this cell. My thoughts are haunting. I curl into a ball in my corner of the cell and curl my toes against the stone floor.

Harry and Ron? Are they okay? Before I had left to walk on my own that day I had given them each a hug before I was gone. Ron had been flushed with worry about me going out, he kept insisting that he go with me. His blue eyes had been begging and it had been so hard to say no to such a sweet face. But I had needed to get away and clear my head, hoping to walk a clear abandoned path to get my thoughts together. Harry had been less afraid. He had confidence that I could do anything by myself if I put my mind to it. He had told me to stay smart and come back home to them. He had taken the hug with a best friend embrace that I miss. I miss both of them so much that it aches. The next day they were planning on going back out to search for more horcruxes, how surprised they must have been when I didn't return at all that night.

But now I have someone new to worry about. Ron's big brother George Weasley. Please don't be in pain... As awful as it is that he's here, it was such a relief to see a friendly smiling face. I would gladly give up my relief to see him be free though if I could. Oh, how I wish I had a book about the weakness of a cell door. We would be out in no time! Books know everything!

I lean my head back against the cold wall and sniff lightly. There's a loud bang that makes me jump to my feet and footsteps that make me bound to the door in hopes that George is coming back in one piece. My hopes soar when I can finally make him out in the darkness coming toward the cell. He seems fully awake and… happy even. A light playful smile is gracing his lips. He's looking straight at me, seeing me in the darkness as well. I step away from the door as the guard that lead him here opens it up. George is shoved inside and two objects clack to the floor behind him.

"Are you okay?" I yell, bounding to him. I'm so glad he's back and not unconscious or limping around.

"Never better," he throws back at me. He stoops down and picks up one of the objects off the floor and hands it to me. I stare at it quietly in puzzlement. It's been so long I almost don't register what exactly it is. I rip a piece off and pop it into my mouth, my stomach nearly cheers at the familiar feel.

_Bread._ Ridiculously stale and hard, but it's still food, it's bread! It's true what they say about eating anything when you're starving. Normally I never would have eaten anything after it had touched the floor. I didn't have to. I never went hungry when I lived with my dentist parents. Nor did I go hungry when I went to Hogwarts School. The only time I ever had to be was when searching for the first few horcruxes with Harry and Ron. And even during that period, it was never such a ravenous hunger such as this. I hear George chuckle at me when I take another humongous bite out of it, nearly cracking my teeth. I can just hear my parents crying now. My parents… I miss them. I know they don't miss me. They don't even know me...

"Here," George hands me another piece of bread. I tilt my face up to him, angling my chin in question. "Oh, you need it more than I do right now. Just take it brainiac," he says and smiles kindly at me. I decide to hold my tongue for once and just take it from him. I have a feeling he isn't like his little brother who would give in if I argued with him long enough.

"Tell me how Ron has been," I state, making my way to sit in my usual corner on the floor. He joins me, still smiling and taking small bites of his bread. I tear awkwardly through mine.

He starts to talk. Telling me about his entire family first. Fred and he still making trouble together. His mother still lovable and putting up with their antics. His father busy and mysterious lately, worried about the world collapsing. His older brothers gone for months, working at other parts of the world. Ron being worried, staying up at night and acting strange ever since I went missing. Ginny being silent and watching it all, trying to cope in her own ways with everything that's happening. Then he starts with others. Harry disappearing and reappearing randomly, looking more worn day by day. Neville slowly becoming braver. Luna being strange but helpful to anyone that needs it.

I find myself smiling with him. Missing them all and fluttering with memories. It's a nice change from the darkness and worry that usually takes my heart.

Hours have passed and we have slowly succumbed to quietness. George sits on the floor still, staring into his own thoughts, occasionally resting his eyes. I worry and pace. It's been way to long since my torturers have come for me. I'm terrified of the bad things that they could have prepared in all this time. Have they come up with something new? Are they finally going to do away with me since George is now here to try and get information from? Surly they would never just leave me alone for one day. There has to be an ulterior motive. My stomach twists, feeling sick from the earlier bread. My head pounds from thinking as does my heart from the anxiety.

"Please stop pacing. You're going to create a hole in the floor," he grins at me all of a sudden. There's a twinge at my cheeks, wanting to pull into a smile too, but I won't let it. I'm too worried. "On second thought, keep going, maybe we can get out through the hole," he jokes. I truly don't know how he can keep that joking demeanor. He's like a challenging puzzle that no one can solve, including myself. I stop and cross my arms over my chest, rubbing my arms lightly, feeling the scars.

"I can't help it George. They haven't come and gotten me yet. Sometimes the waiting is worse than the actual pain. It kills me inside. Drives my anxiety up the walls. You should have seen how I was before you showed up. I would just sit in the corner and stare at the dark. Waiting," I realize I'm rambling and stop that too. I notice he's staring at me with those hazel eyes. There's something… off about the look. There is no usual smile, just a somber line. His jaw seems tense and locked. Why is he so serious all of sudden?

"Hermione. Just leave it alone. I don't think they're going to come for you," he says. It's a stern voice that I've never heard come out of the jokester. What… just happened? Why is he looking at me like that? I feel like he's hiding something from me.

"George… Why do you say that?"

He runs a hand across his face and through his shaggy red hair. His eyes glass over and he turns his head to the side, looking away from me and to a suddenly very interesting stone wall.

"Just leave it alone, Hermione. This isn't some case you can solve."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I say loudly, suddenly angry. Who does he think he is? He looks back at me, all expression erased from his face. Not even the serious one is there; he's made his eyes dead. "What are you hiding from me, George?" I express, taking a step toward him.

"I said, leave it alone."

"That's not fair! Tell me."

"Just stop!"

"_No!_"

"_Yes!_" he stands all of a sudden and roars it. It echoes around us, the darkness calling his exclamation over and over. My eyes widen and I take my step back. We're silent and staring at each other, I can hear his breathing and I'm sure he can hear mine. Perhaps my pounding heart too. "You just don't need to know, Hermione," he states and starts to turn his back to me.

"I do need to know! Tell me Geor—" I stop when he spins around so fast I nearly take another step back. He grabs my upper arms tightly, but not near hard enough to hurt me. He shakes me, making my curly hair fly around.

"Don't you understand? It's going to drive you insane!" he says.

"I don't care! Just spit it out!"

"They're not coming to get you today because _I took it for you!_"

He's right about insane. My mouth drops open as he slowly lets go of my arms. He turns to the side and presses his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. I look away from him and stare down at my dirty hands. I feel my eyes start to sting and heat rising to my face. I reach up and take tufts of my hair in my hands, pulling lightly. This can't be happening. Why would he ever do that? I don't know what to feel. I can feel my spiteful temper touching the back of my mind. Wanting to yell and curse at him. But I also feel such sadness. He got hurt because of me, it's all my fault. It's my fault. My fault… mine…

"Please tell me you're lying," I beg, hearing my voice strain. The lump in my throat won't go away.

"I can't," he says, shaking his head. "The way you screamed yesterday… I couldn't take it. Seeing a friend go through that, especially someone that I've known for so long was worse than anything Bellatrix could have dished out on me."

That's when the small tears start, they sting and wet my cheeks. There's a fluttering in the pit of my stomach. I pull my hands away from my face and look at him. He's still staring at the wall of to the side, no longer pinching the sides of his nose.

"What did they do to you?" I ask. He won't look at me, just shakes his head. "Please, George," I say, holding my hand out to him. He stares down at it.

"Can't we just leave it at that?"

"No."

He growls in frustration and puts the back of his hand against my palm. Looking back toward the wall, he fidgets but stays where he is. I carefully pull up his green shirt sleeve, already staining with whatever is underneath. I flinch when I get it all the way to his elbow and can see what it is. Fresh tears squeeze from my eyes, but I'm careful that the salty water doesn't land on his wounds. The stripes are an angry red, with blood oozing from the sliced skin. Darker parts scab on his white flesh. I gingerly touch one, reading out the letters, feeling more guilty than I did before.

_Mudblood Protector._

"How much does it hurt?" I ask timidly. I see him swing his head toward me. I'm taken aback when a smile spreads across his face. His good natured look back at full force, not a trace of pain in his eyes.

"Not at all."


	4. Safe Spot

**Chapter IV: Safe Spot**

_Hermione's Point of View_

Our days are long, rough, and even boring. The sight of darkness every single day (or night, how can we tell?) it's the same thing over and over. We routinely check each crevasse for signs of escape, come up with nothing as per usual. Then we idly chat for a while, asking questions about what has been happening to one another. I've told him so much of my days here. How the first weeks were the worst because of not being accustomed to pain, hunger, and darkness. How I would cry and call for help every night for at least the first month in hopes that someone decent would hear me down here. How being holed up in this place and constantly aching was slowly driving me insane, as well as the loneliness. Anytime I mentioned the loneliness George goofily smiles and states that he's here to annoy me now. Then I always honestly and seriously state, that he doesn't annoy me. Then he usually tells me I take things too seriously, which is true. George then takes a turn and tells me about how things were back at home since I've been missing. Filling me in on details, funny stories, and sad stories is comforting to me. During these days we have grown very close since all we have is each other. I feel closer to him at this moment than I even do to Harry or Ron or Ginny. He's a best friend. Actually, an only friend right now. He's even seen me cry which is something that I try to hide from most people, but there's nowhere to go to hide away from him. So he sees every raw emotion that comes out of me. And I see his when his humor mask breaks once in a blue moon. Those days are hard to cope with.

Anyway, going back to our days, after talking about all of this we are usually taken one at a time (sometimes together) up to the light to be interrogated. Some days we come back with just bruises and aches, others are worse and we come back bleeding and exhausted. Today is one of those days, George has come back with almost no skin on his knuckles and the backs of his hands.

"How in the world did they do this?" I ask, wrapping a strip of my own shirt around his bloodied fist.

"Some piece of metal I guess. I didn't really look at it, I tried to close my eyes and not think about it. Any time I didn't answer or said 'I don't know' they'd smack it across my knuckles. They're like a bunch of corrupted school teachers," George says, trying to joke. I don't smile.

"School teachers don't use metal."

"I said 'corrupted'."

"It doesn't matter. Teachers are supposed to be good people."

"Like Umbridge?"

"George Weasley!"

He smiles at me while I grumpily finish dressing his wounds. Bloody brat. He knew what I meant. I was meaning the _real _teachers at Hogwarts. Not some silly pink woman with her batty attitude on discipline.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," he answers to his name.

"Don't you test me George! It's been a long day for both of us and I am just exhausted."

"Then rest," he says, suddenly very serious. He's looking at me so expectantly, I feel a little bad.

"I'm really too sore right now to lie down on this cold stone. It's okay though, really," I say, feeling guilty. He's just worried about me but I really can't stand the thought of lying down on my bruised ribs. And I'm not quite tired enough to pass out on the ground without even thinking about my damaged body. Of all things right now, I wish there was a warm bed. One for each of us in fact. With loads of blankets and a mountain of pillows, it just sounds so heavenly. I will never take my bed for granted again. Ever.

"Then come here." George snaps me out of my thought bubble. What did he mean? I was already right there. There was no where I could go. We're in a tiny cell, I don't get it. "Just get over here," he laughs lightly, as if reading my mind once again. I crawl over, feeling the bumps and cracks of the floor over my black and blue knees. I stop in front of him, so close I can feel his body heat. I can't understand how he's warm in a place like this. I feel like my bones are made of ice constantly and my lips are always tinted blue. Yet here's George, always seeming to have a hint of color in his face and a bright smile. Like right now, there's that cheeky smile. He leans forward and in reflex I lean back, half expecting to be hit yet knowing that the Weasley twin would never dream of hitting me. This is what this place is doing to me. Molding me to be constantly scared of everything… if he notices though, he doesn't show it. He reaches out, grasps my shoulders, spins me around, and drags me to him on the seat of my jeans. He stops right before I touch his chest. I'm between his legs but those aren't touching me either. Neither are his hands or arms, they're tucked away behind his head as he leans against the gray wall. I'm impressed by the boldness yet surprised at the courtesy of giving me a chance to decide for myself whether to use him as a human pillow or not.

"You're so warm," I finally say, shivering slightly as the body heat tries to soak into my skin. It feels so nice; it's sort of numbing to be constantly cold. Goosebumps crawl up my skin, trying to eat up the warmth as my body seems to try and defrost itself.

"I always tell mom: 'If I'm cold, I'm dead'," he answers behind my head. It's so strange to hear his voice so close, his breathing and small shifting movements too. I can tell if I were to tilt back and lean against him my head would place perfectly in the middle of his chest. I consider myself pretty average height for a girl my age, definitely not a lovely short pixie stature, but George and his twin are fairly tall which make me seem like one of those pixie girls against him. It's interesting to feel so little against someone. I rather like it. "You think too much, Hermione."

"I know." I lean back, tenderly touching his rising and falling chest. He doesn't move an inch while I try to relax. What's bothering me so much is this doesn't feel as terribly awkward as I thought it would be. "Seriously, you are so warm," I mumble.

"And you're cold. I can feel it coming off of you," he answers. I can feel the vibration of the words.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be as long as your lips don't turn blue again. It makes me nervous."

"You? Nervous? Never."

"Anxious?"

"I doubt that too."

"Well you shouldn't."

"Why?"

"'Cause I said so," he mocks. His arms come down from the back of his head and gripping my upper arms. He shakes me slightly. "You're supposed to be resting, Miss Granger."

"Since when are you the boss of me?"

"Never. You're the bossy one."

"I am not!"

"Right. You're the stubborn one."

"I'm not that either!"

"Good. Then go to sleep," he says and moves his hands away and back up to his head. My skin where he touched angrily tingles at the warmth being taken away. I take it as a sign that he won, for now. I definitely am not going to admit that I am bossy or stubborn. But the touch of his, I want it back… strangely. Why do I want it back? I suppose just because I am cold. A simple, truthful reason.

"Come back," I whisper, half hoping that he won't hear me even though I'm pressed right against him. He does though, but doesn't say a word. His arms come down and lightly touch my upper arms again. Actually he's almost not touching me. Almost. It's like a ghost of a touch, spreading warmth into me. Maybe afraid to be any closer to me? Maybe feeling awkward about it even though I am not? Maybe embarrassed to even have offered up as a human pillow? "Sorry," I mumble, starting to pull away.

"God, Hermione," George whispers, yanking me back against him. His legs curl up against mine, his left arm wraps around mine, and his right hand presses against my forehead. He lets out a sigh about something. I honestly can't tell if it's of frustration, anger, or contentment. "You think too much. Let's sleep, you're cranky," he says, all frustration in his voice gone replaced with his normal humor.

"Am not."

"Are to. Sleep."

"Maybe."

"Hermione…"

"I know." I turn my body sideways so the side of my head cuddles into the small dip in his chest. His hand moves away from my forehead and now curls around my ear, warming it. I can hear the fluttering heartbeat under his green shirt, steady and relaxed. It's a relief to hear nothing but a heartbeat and feeling of warm on my body. The dripping noise is blocked out and so is any screams that we may happen to hear in the dark. I haven't felt so comfortable and safe in a very long time. I never want to move. Ever.


	5. Broken Spirit

_Please be warned, this chapter has something disturbing that happens in it. It's the reason I bumped the rating up to "M" instead of sticking to "T". Thank you!_

* * *

**Chapter V: Broken Spirit**

_Hermione's Point of View_

It's late. My round of torture for the day has already been executed and so has poor George's. But there's an odd noise for it being so late, the sound of booted footsteps and jingling keys. We're the only prisoners in this hallway, what could anyone possibly be doing in this corridor tonight when our turn has already been done? The frantic possibility of there being time for more for one of us absolutely kills my heart. Please, oh, please just be passing through. We weren't even making any noise!

The footsteps stop and I feel my breathing catch. George is suddenly awake, I feel him tighten a grip across my body. I'm positive he can feel my pounding heart, I can feel his own on my back. When George is scared, it's definitely time to be scared. Usually nothing can sway his spunky persona. But even this he wasn't suspecting, and neither was I. Which one of us is leaving the other alone in the dark tonight?

The barred door creaks open. It's a deafening sound that crushes my chest. My heart feels like it's going to explode with fear at the unusualness of it all. It's like the day George first arrived, when they grabbed me early in the morning. Perhaps this is the same, maybe they caught someone else! The thought is sickening. But so is the thought of more pain to suffer through.

"Get over here, mudblood," he calls from the darkness. My heart nearly stops this time. I can hear my own breathing as I start to stand.

"No," George whispers to me, trying to pull me back. I can tell he's worried about me, about what's going to happen when I leave him alone here. There's nothing either of us can do anything though. He should understand. Please, he has to understand by now if we refuse it's so much worse in the long run.

"_Get over here!" _he bellows out, possibly hearing the whisper or I was taking too long. Either way, the startle factor causes George to release his grip on me. I slip from his fingers and practically run to the door, not wanting to be dragged all the way out. When he slams the door I'm surprised by a cold bony hand on my shoulder. It's not the usually sweaty chubby fingered one that makes his rounds to our door daily. This thought is even more unsettling, even more unusual. The shaking in my limbs comes back, I see George press against the bars of the door, staring at me. The stranger leads me away and it's like I can feel the frustration radiating off of George's body. Be strong for me George. I think I'll need it.

I'm led to a room I don't recognize. It's stone top to bottom, just like our little cell. But there is a dim light in this room, making my eyes throb lightly in their sockets as I look around. There's a small wooden barrel tub in the middle of the room, filled almost to the brim with clear water. There's two small items on the floor beside it that I can't make out with the dim light. All of a sudden, I'm shoved forward, taking several steps forward to try and regain balance and almost stumbling right into the water. I catch the edge of the biting wood and turn my head to face him. Glaring.

"You have ten minutes. Get to it, filth," he yells. Storming out and slamming the barred door behind him. I couldn't even see his face with his hood up and the poor lights. But at least there is light.

I kneel down and picks up the two items on the floor. One is a blood stained white cloth, and the other is a small crystal vial of something. Out of curiosity, I open it and poor a small amount onto my open palm. It smells… clean.

Soap? For a bath? Really? Why all of this though? It doesn't make sense. I haven't had the privilege of a bath at all since I got here. Disgustingly way too long to be without getting clean, but there wasn't much I could do. If it rained particularly hard sometimes I would wash off a little from the puddle that creates on the floor of our cell. But I don't do it often because it's constantly cold down in the dungeons, I'm freezing all night after trying to get clean.

I strip and climb into the tub, the water is lukewarm and cooling fast in the chilled room. As soon as I sink in the water, it turns discolored instead of clear. All the months of dirt and blood washing off, it felt nice. I dunk my head under the water, scrubbing my fingers through my hair, when I come back up I can't see through the water at all. It's a reddish brown tinge that bothers me. I've been so disgusting for months, I can't imagine what I looked look. Covered in a layer of dirt and scabs of blood everywhere, such a gross visual. Poor George. He's had to look at me for a couple weeks, I don't know how he can even touch me like this. Never mind letting me lean on him every night for comfort.

I ban that thought and go about cleaning myself. Scrubbing every crevice of my body and hair with the soap and cloth provided. It's hard to avoid all the painful areas, I have wounds everywhere. Bruises down my legs and hips, scabs on my arms, burns on my back. The scar that calls me a creature starts to weep softly as my skin softens from the water. It catches my attention and I begin to examine myself. The scars on both my arms speak to me, calling me names. I trace the word creature with an index finger, letting the little leaks of blood smear. Other words are red, pink, hardly any are finally turning white or going away. Most are becoming raised, like they will forever exist my life. Forever a part of me and an everyday reminder of all of this. Can I really live with this? _Should_ I live with this? I put my hand around my wrist and start to think of how much smaller I've gotten over these months...

The door clatters open and I abruptly stand, covering myself with both hands. A towel gets thrown at my face as I step out of the tub. I start to pick up my clothes while covering myself with the towel. He growls at me to just wrap the towel around me and let's go. I do as I'm told and drop my clothes back to the floor; my T-shirt and jeans abandoned and I scurry to the door. Hoping I would just finally be taken back to my cell, but he's leading me upstairs. I have the frantic animal impulse to run, and I don't know why. Something's going to go wrong, something really bad. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep walking instead of turning and fleeing the other direction. Back to the little room with the tub, back to George, back anywhere except upstairs.

My leader opens the door to reveal my usual torture room. The living room type space with the chairs lined up against the walls and a couch in the middle of the room. The chandelier is dimly lit with candles, as my eyes adjust I notice we're not alone. All kinds of men sit on the chairs lining the walls. One stands behind the couch. He has dark hair, curling at his shoulders and fluttering in his face. He wears all black, and has several flashing earrings in both ears. He'd be almost attractive if working for the dark lord weren't such a turn off. Plus he looks a little menacing, he stands with his legs slightly parted and both hands behind his back. Fire seems to dance in his eyes when he sees me and I pull the towel tighter against my body. I feel so vulnerable, even more so than I usually do in this room.

"Miss Granger. We've been expecting you. Please, come here," the man that's standing says. I hesitate and get a rough push from whoever was leading me. I force myself to muster up courage to stand directly in front of this stranger speaking to me. The urge to flee is incredibly strong now. Every ounce of my being is screaming to get out, get out now! But I can't listen, I have nowhere to go. I don't know why I feel so scared, this just seems so wrong. I've been called brave before, though I don't feel so brave now. I feel like a child, lost in a room full of strange people.

"Wh—"

"Hush." I get cut off, about to inquire as to why they were expecting me, standing here in a towel. This is wrong, this is so wrong. Please, just let me leave. "It seems," he begins in a slow voice. "Bellatrix is having a bit of a problem getting any information from you. I can see why, you're a strong girl with a soaring spirit. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

Well, I certainly don't know what to say. I don't know whether it's supposed to be a compliment toward me or an insult. He clearly isn't on my side, but why would he say something like that? I feel so frustrated! I'm supposed to be the smart one that can figure things out! I can't read a thing on this person in front of me. No matter how much I look him up and down or try and read into his sentences, nothing comes through for me. He is good at his job, whatever it is, it seems.

"Right," he says when I don't reply. It's not a question. "Now here I am, contemplating what I can do to help poor Bellatrix with the job she just can't seem to do properly. And suddenly, I'm struck with a great idea!" he says, sounding pleased with himself. I take a step around the side of the couch, my heart is pounding in big painful beats. What does he mean? "I obviously need to break your spirit somehow. That's the only way we will ever get through to you." He grabs my arms before I can take another step back. He grabs them firmly and I can't move. I stare into his icy blue eyes and he stares straight back into my dilating pupils. "I'm going to break your spirit, Miss Granger," he whispers.

And just like that, my terror predictions come true. I should have run, somewhere, anywhere. He flips me on my stomach over the floral couch arm, my only security is torn of my body and thrown to the floor. I fight with everything I can muster, but I'm weak from being kept starved and hurting. My adrenalin is helping though, keeping my body from completely touching the arm of the couch and giving in. I can feel every set of eyes in the room on me as I fight, they all see my vulnerability and it's scary. Every inch of my skin is exposed, no one has ever seen this much of me before, and now a room full of people have. The shame prickles at my eyes as my adrenalin starts to die and he starts to win. The back of my head is grabbed and shoved down into the cushions. I swing it back and forth and try to pull upwards, there's a sickening sound that comes from behind me. It takes a moment but I feel a throbbing in my back, it sounds again and I notice this time. He's hitting my back with a ring on his hand again and again and again. I cry out accidentally when it hits my spine, it makes my body fully collapse on the arm of the couch.

"Sh, sh, sh, Miss Granger. It's the only way," he says, his voice casual. As he speaks I feel him run a finger down the curve of my hip. It makes my stomach turn, I reach a hand back and try to stop him. The finger goes away and I hear a whisper. My two wrists quickly become drawn together like magnets, I can't break them apart. I struggle and let out a little yell of frustration. My noise earns me a slap on the behind so loud that it echoes throughout the room. "Quiet now. You'll have plenty of chances to scream," he whispers and the hand on the back of my head rubs against the back of my neck.

"Let me go!" I yell in response. I get three slaps for that one and I cringe.

"_What did I say!" _he all of a sudden bellows, losing his composure with me. I let out a sob into the cushions that I didn't know was even rising in me. My heart hurts from its frantic beat. He hits me several more times and my throat decides to sob again and this time tears actually start to prick my eyes. It feels like my body is admitting defeat without consent from my brain. I don't want to lose anything to him! Don't touch me, just let me go.

He leans down close to my back and starts kissing my shoulders. I shudder in disgust at the hot breath and wet trail he leaves. Hands grab at my chest, foundling roughly and pulling at the nipples until they hurt. I hear a couple shuffles of clothing and I remember how much of an audience I we have. Embarrassment burns at my cheeks. I really am vial aren't I? A filthy creature that can only be used as an object. At that thought, I feel gushes of hot tears fall from my lashes. I cry freely now, horrified at what's happening to me. I hear a zipper and I know what is coming, I try one more futile attempt to get up. He presses full body weight against me and I collapse back down, he digs his nails sharply across my stomach as punishment and bites my neck.

"Please, don't," I cough out. I can feel it against my backside, warm and waiting. Don't do this.

"Get ready to scream," he whispers against my hair, tweaking both nipples harshly, making me choke.

"No don't—" Then it happens. "_George!_ " I scream out so loudly, I can hear it plainly echo around the room, shrill and loud. I'm not sure why I said it, but I did. He's been around me for so long, being my rock on hard days as a prisoner. And I need him so much right now, so very much.

Quickly and roughly, he doesn't stop moving once inside either. The pain is white hot, tingles erupt everywhere like little pins pricking my body. The tears come out and I scream. I scream, and scream, and scream, I can't help it. I can't seem to make it stop, I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing he's hurting me so much. What is wrong with me? I can't stop!

By the time he is done my voice has gone hoarse from yelling and sobbing into the couch. Water still makes droplets on my face but it's soundless and haunting. My entire body aches and my muscles are protesting with small spasms now and again. I hear movement around the room and behind me as he straightens himself. The spell on my wrists is lifted, but I have no fight left him me. I allow someone to haul me to my feet and hold my arms together behind my back. A finger lifts my chin and I'm staring back into those icy blue eyes of my rapist.

"Perhaps you'll speak to Bellatrix now. Or maybe I'll have to come back to give you a little more fun," he says calmly with a small mocking smile overcoming his features.

My face hardens and I don't know what comes over me but…

I spit directly in that bastards face.

No one moves as his smile disappears. Fire appears in those ice eyes and he wipes the saliva away with his black sleeve. He regains his proper composure, but the fire doesn't disappear. It's burning back into my own eyes.

He lifts a hand and slaps me across the face.

I'm thrown into my cell and automatically curl into a ball on the ground, feeling the shame on my face. The tears haven't stopped falling, but I'm so exhausted that I feel like I can't cry anymore, but I am. George is at my side before the cell door even slams shut. Shame. Shame. Shame. Don't look at me George, I'm disgusting. Vial. A filthy creature. Don't look at me, I don't want you to know. Even though he already does know.

"Hermione, what happened? Are you okay? What happened? Talk to me!" he scrambles all of his words together. He talks so fast it makes my head hurt. Everything hurts actually. It feels like even my soul is hurt. Crushed more like. "Hermione?" He shakes me lightly. A sob that I didn't know was welling in my pops out and I curl into an even tighter ball, hiding my face, hiding my shame.

I feel something warm and soft wrap around my bare back and sides. It's mildly comforting, but it's too difficult to recognize comfort right now, so it disperses fast. Immediately after the material is placed around me, I'm scooped up into my warm sleeping spot. The chest is bare this time. Bare and smooth, not a single scruffy chest hair in sight. Arms swarm around me in a tight but gentle embrace as I burry my face against the smoothness. My heart is still beating so painfully that I clutch a hand to my own bare chest. One of his hands rubs my boney back against the material covering what it can of me. I then realize how hard I'm actually crying against him. It's loud and pathetic sounding to my ears. Tears are for broken people, not for me. Not for me… Shame, shame, shame. It burns, eating me alive. I've never felt such an intense emotion before. It takes me several agonizing minutes to finally realize that George is speaking to me gently. I try to gulp down cries to listen, to hear what he has to say.

"Sh. Hermione, sh. It's okay. You're okay. Now. I got you now. They don't. I do. It's okay. It'll be okay." He sounds so desperate himself, but I listen to him. Focus on him more like. Anything to try and get rid of all of this, tune it all out. I listen to him whisper on against my hair, keeping me curled against him and rubbing my back as softly as he can while still physically touching me. I bring a hand to my mouth and bite my knuckles so hard that I'm sure they'll bleed when I take them away, but I don't care. I focus on trying to calm down. I hold back all my hard sobs as much as I can. I squeeze my eyes tight to try and not let water escape. I bite down hard to distract myself from the fire everywhere else on me. I listen to George, lulling me with fast paced whisper words. It helps. It distracts. Please, keep talking to me. Never stop. I need it. "It'll be okay. What happened? I heard you scream. It scared me. It's okay. You're okay now. I got you. I promise. I got you. They don't. Please, Hermione." He sounds almost like he might cry too. Don't cry George.

"It hurts," I whisper, pushing closer against him. He loosens his grip on me, like he's afraid to touch me. No. Come back.

"What hurts?" he asks, finally pausing in his spiraling rant.

"Everything…" I say, tears track down my face again. I press even more against him. It hurts my head but I hope it gives him a hint to come back close again. I'm so scared, I want my safe spot. I want to feel okay again. I need to. This hurts too much. He reads my mind again somehow and bundles me up in his arms and legs, pulling me close and tight against him. Even his forehead comes down and touches the top of my head. I can feel his breath against my neck. It sends goosebumps down my spine. The fear prickles all over, someone so close to me. I can't feel this way, not to George. Please, I need my safe spot.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, sending more air against me. I believe he can feel the goosebumps that rise and he moves his head away from me. Instead he puts his chin on top of my head. It's better, but my heart won't stop racing and the anxiety won't go away. I don't know what to do.

Several more minutes pass and I have finally quieted myself, listening to George's heartbeat and occasionally him whispering a small phrase to me. It's lulled me into some sort of trance. I feel mildly numb, my body almost humming. I don't feel sore, just a light throb here and there. No tears, my eyes have tired themselves to the point of dryness. My head is swirling with gray colors of blankness.

"Hey. Let's get this on you," George says softly, rubbing my back again against his green shirt. I think he's expecting me to argue like I normally would, but I don't. I don't say a word. I turn so my back is completely to him, I feel the cloth slip away from my shoulders and I shiver as my bare back is exposed. A flash comes before my eyes, remembering my last shred of security being ripped from my body not long ago. The helplessness. I shudder and cover my face with my hands, trying to block the memory again. Welcoming the wash of blankness that covers my mind again. I raise my arms and the soft material slinks down my body. I stand slowly to straighten it then turn to face the red haired boy on the floor. The shirt is much too big for me, the hem of it reaching down a couple inches below my bottom like a mini dress would. The sleeves would hang well below my fingertips but they seem to be staying well with the elastic cuff gripping around my palms. I'm sure the dark green against my pale sun starved skin makes me look even more ghostly than before, but it's soft and warm. It smells lightly of George. Not stinky like you'd expect from two people being holed up in a cell together without bathing for weeks, but a nice smell that's a bit indescribable. It's comforting. It makes me feel better, like a thick blanket on a winter day.

"Do I look okay?" I don't know why I say it, but I do. He keeps looking at me.

"You always look okay," he replies.

"Yeah, right. I'm sure an emotional girl with tangled curls and bloodshot eyes looks fabulous," I scoff, trying to keep my emotions in check. I'm too tired to feel angry or cry anymore.

"Yeah, I am right," he responds seriously, not a hint of humor touching his features.

"Don't test me, George. Please."

"I'm not, I…" he sighs. "Come here, Hermione." I do. I drop to my knees and curl into a ball against him. He protectively cocoons me in his embrace again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and the trapped feeling eats at my mind. Another flash, I remember being overpowered and pressed into the cushions like I'm pressed against George's bare chest. I squeeze my eyes shut so tight they might burst in their sockets. The thought disperses when I focus on making myself a shell again. I want the mindlessness of a puppet.

We sit like this for a while. Me trying to ease myself back into feeling safe where I am, him hanging on to me and staring off into space.

"Hermione, what did they do to you?" he asks softly after a while. I look up at him and blink. His hazel green eyes leak with concern, searching my tear stained face for the answers he wants. I wish so badly that I could give him an answer that says I'm okay inside and out. But I can't. Never the less, I feel a small smile cut into my lips. My eyes want to cry again but I keep them sparkling at the brim. I whisper so lowly that I almost hope he won't hear me say it.

"They broke me."


	6. Just Draco

**Chapter VI: Just Draco**

_Hermione's Point of View_

"Well, Mudblood, what information have you got for me today?" Bellatrix asks as she circles me slowly. Like a lioness hunting her prey, her wand is held delicately behind her back. It's almost as if she thinks she's a proper woman.

"I don't have any," I say in a monotone voice. I'm just so tired and everything hurts today. I want to go back down to my cell lean against George and sleep. Maybe even die in my sleep. I'm so tired of this. I'm actually not lying to Bellatrix anymore. I've been away from everyone for so long that I have no idea what their new plans of action are, where their new locations are, or who their new colleagues are. So now I'm basically being punished for literally not knowing anything. "I don't know anything," I mumble.

"Wrong answer!" Bellatrix shouts and zaps me with an excruciating spell. It makes me writhe all over the place even though I'm strapped to a chair. It only last for a few moments but it feels like it goes on forever, my breath is short by the time she stops pointing her wand at me. Slowly pulling my limbs off would be less painful than that curse! "Let's try this again, shall we? What is Harry Potter planning?"

"I don't know."

_Zap._

"Where is the location of The Order?"

"I don't know."

_Zap. _

"How are they solving everything? _Tell me!"_

"_I don't know!"_

_Zap._

"Do you think I'm a fool you little brat?" Bellatrix screams, grabbing a handful of my hair and twisting my head up to look at her face. She really has revolting teeth. "You will tell me what I want to know! Or perhaps… I will send a special someone in to visit you." She cackles as she lets go of my hair with a jerk, I'm too dazed to properly understand the meaning of her cruel words. But I understand soon enough when a man clothed in all black comes into my vision. He stands with his feet slightly parted and his hands behind his back, his ice blue eyes are on fire. My heart pounds in recognition. Bellatrix, you're so cruel.

"Hello, Miss Granger. It's a pleasure to see you again," he grins like the Cheshire Cat. I also recognize two people behind him, flanking both his sides. One is a dark skinned boy and the other has his platinum blond hair, they both stand straight and tall with their hands behind their back, eyes staring straight ahead of them. Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Great. "Bellatrix tells me you're need a little more persuading. Is that right, darling?" he asks and touches the top of my hair. I shake my head to get the violating thing away from me.

"I don't know anything!" I cry at him. Please, just kill me already. I can't take this anymore. He laughs lightly, making me feel slightly embarrassed.

"I'm afraid I don't believe you, love. I wish you were telling me the truth. How about you do so and just save us all the trouble, huh?" he asks me, folding at the waist and clutching my chin with that disgusting hand again. I can't bear to look him in the eye, but I still hold my tongue. "No? Alright then. Blaise, take Bellatrix for a walk. Draco and I will take care of this one." I hear Bellatrix cackle and the door slams shut, my insides turn into knots of dread at what's about to happen to me.

"Please! I don't know anything! I don't!"

"Up we go," he says, ignoring my pleas. I'm moved from the chair and over the couch like I was the night before. All I'm dressed in is still George's green shirt that easily rides up to expose almost my entire backside when I'm bent over. It doesn't start right away, but I can't move. I twist my and jerk my head in different directions to look around. The dark haired man places a chair at the other end of the long couch. He sits in it, crosses his legs, and presses his fingertips together in front of himself. "Draco, I believe you should have a go," he says, eyeing the boy beside me. My eyes widen in horror and I nearly break my neck to look up at Malfoy standing next to me. His face is stone cold blank but his silver eyes look dimly alarmed, but they mask themselves a second after I see it.

"I really don't think I should," Malfoy responds, shifting his posture.

"Nonsense! It would do your father proud to know you've done your share of torment for the day."

"I don't quite think I'm experienced enough for this kind of torture though."

"Are you a virgin?" he inquires, raising a perfect dark eyebrow.

"Of course not," Malfoy scoffs.

"Then you're qualified enough for the position, Draco," he answers dismissively. Malfoy nods slowly and shuffles his way behind me. I can feel him staring at my back, right between the shoulder blades. He stands there for a while and the dark haired man coughs to get his attention.

"If you think I'm qualified enough then I'd like to do this myself," Malfoy answers from behind me. I'm being talked about like I'm not even in the room.

"When just a moment ago you were doubting yourself? I'm not so sure, Draco."

"Please, allow me to do this. To… to make my father proud."

I see that Cheshire smile split into his features again. He winks at my staring face and stands.

"Very well, Draco. I shall leave you to your task. Mind you I will be close by if she were to get out of hand." I try not to scoff at the ridiculousness of that notion. Where could I possibly go? I'm charmed to this damned couch with no way out. I'm going to be molested by Draco Malfoy. But why don't I feel as much of a fight and flee feeling that I had last night? I hear the man make his way through the room and slam the door as he exits. There's an uneasy silence as I wait for Malfoy to do disgusting things to me. Finally he leans down over me, I feel the front of his—jeans?—against my backside. His hands go down on either side of my chest and I flinch, waiting for him to grab at me. He doesn't. He continues making his way slowly down toward me until his lips are a hairs breath away from my ear.

"Just scream or something, okay? They're watching us," he whispers so lowly it's almost hard to hear even though he's so close. I swallow down my questions and just nod, not really understanding. I hear a zipper and some shuffling and I about burst into tears thinking about what's coming next. He presses up against my backside again, but once again, I only feel his jeans against me. "Come on, Granger. Start," he whispers again, I feel his hands slip up the hem of George's shirt. I feel myself flinch again but his hands stop and rest on my ribs. His forefinger curls around the bottom of my chest and his thumb goes up the sides nearly touching my underarms. He's barely touching my skin and is making no move to try and fondle anything. The front of his jeans starts to move back and forth against my backside, making me shift. "Granger," he hisses into my hair.

I get it now and nearly burst into tears at the kindness. Then I realize I shouldn't hold the crying in, so I don't. I let the tears come tumbling down my face, I'm sure it looks like pain, but it's such gratitude right now. I put on a show stopping scream that even hurts my ears, I feel Malfoy stiffen behind me but he doesn't stop.

"Yes, that. Keep doing that," he whispers and buries his face into the side of my neck. I feel his lips against it, but they don't move. He tilts his head once in a while to make it look like he's doing something. I do as told and keep up the show, yelling and screaming and letting tears out all over the place. It's true what they say though, Draco Malfoy is cold. Not cold as in a "no compassion" sense but cold as in the literal sense. His hands never seem to warm up against my bare skin. His lips don't seem to warm either, I wouldn't be surprised if they were always tinted blue. Even his breath is just a puff of air, not a hint of warmth in it. Just the opposite of George, who seems to be warm no matter what. Warm even though I've had his shirt all night.

After a while, Malfoy stops, but I continue my fake sobs into the couch cushions. His hands come out from under me and I hear a zipper again. He stands and as soon as he does I hear the door burst open again.

"Well done my boy!" I recognize the voice of Lucius, Malfoy's father.

"Yes. Well done, Draco," the black haired man echo's. My bindings are released, but I lay there and continue faking my cries until I'm jerked up by my hair. "How about you do the honors?"

"Are you ready to talk?" Malfoy hisses to me, his face mean looking but his eyes betray him for a split second again. I mimic his face and spit at him, like I did the other man. He slaps me hard, but not as hard as the other man did. I hear Lucius laugh and I'm hauled off down to my cell again.

...

George scrambles to me as soon as I'm tossed through the door. I don't collapse into a ball on the floor this time, but the red haired boy presses me protectively to his chest anyway. I look up at him and his hazel green eyes are flashing, I've never seen such a menacing look on playful George's face. It's a little frightening. I reach up and press my palm to the side of his cheek, the minimal soft stubble tickles me. The boy never seems to grow a lot of body hair, I quite like it that way, I like the smoothness of his skin.

"George, what's wrong?" I ask, keeping my voice low. He glances at me briefly then brings his attention back in front of him. "George?"

"Malfoy," George says, ignoring me but it answers my question. I turn in George's arms but he still doesn't let go of me. His protective side is kicking in. But there, standing in the open cell doorway, is Draco Malfoy. Even after what he just did for me, I can't help but feel a little nervous with him around. All those years of being tormented by that boy is not so easily given up.

"Weasley," Malfoy answers with just as much venom in his voice.

"Come to taunt us have you? Well bug off!" George replies, straining to remain calm.

"So you don't want my help then?"

"We don't need anything from—"

"George, wait," I say, patting his arm. He takes it as a sign to let go of me even though that's not what I meant. He crosses his arms behind me, I can feel the bitterness radiating off of him. I'm sorry George, but I need to know what Malfoy means. I turn my attention to the blond boy. "Help us how?"

"Getting you out."

"Getting us out? Why would you do that? You're a Death Eater, you're on their side!"

"Don't speak about things that you do not understand."

"I understand perfectly. You work for You Know Who. You have a mark and—"

"Shut it Mudblood!" Malfoy hisses.

"Watch it Malfoy!" George threatens, taking a step toward the platinum blond boy. Draco grips his hair in frustration then suddenly flings his arms to his sides. His silver eyes look wild and distressed. It's all very unMalfoy of him.

"Do you think I chose this path for myself? Do you think this is _easy? _Seeing people I once knew, innocent people, tortured daily, having to execute some myself! Do you think I _wanted _all of this to happen? _I've never had a choice in my future! This _was _always _in my future, whether I liked it or not," Malfoy screams at us. His voice echo's around in the darkness and it makes me fear that someone will hear him and come down for us. I always knew Draco Malfoy had anger deep down in his heart, but I never knew about this kind of anger. I can only imagine being in his shoes. A young boy being taught to hate people. Being forced to always be number one in power as much as he could. Constantly having some sort of cruel fate hanging over his head. In his place, I think I would hate myself. That kind of torment can ruin a person.

"If you can get us out then come with us, Malfoy," I whisper. His silver eyes storm over as he looks at me. For one of the first times that I can remember, he's looking me in the eyes instead of trailing over me in disgust.

"I can't," he answers.

"Of course you can. You just don't want to because you're one of them," George interjects.

"No. Really. I can't."

"But why?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"My mother. She'd never leave my father, she actually cares about him. But if I ever left and they found out she'd be dead the moment they discovered it," he says. He brings his attention back up to me, once again not just looking through me. "But you two have a choice. You can _leave._ Just make sure it looks like an escape with no help. I can't get pegged for this. They'll have my whole family murdered along with me." Malfoy tosses me a wand. It's rough, heavy, and warped. The wood is so dark it's almost black. I've never seen a wand quite like this one. I look up at him, questioning. "I swiped it from a guard. Wait a while, but not too long or you'll miss your chance. Good luck… Hermione. And George," Malfoy says our first names instead of insults, once again a first. He walks out of the cell and shuts the door behind him, it's charmed shut again and he turns to walk away.

"Draco!" I call out, surprising everyone that I say his proper name too, just "Draco" instead of "Malfoy". He turns back to me. "Thank you," I whisper, clutching the wand to my chest. I'm not just thanking him for a means of escape, I'm thanking him for not doing something cruel to me earlier, I'm thanking him for helping us out, I'm thanking him for finally treating me like someone who is his equal and not someone lower than he. The corner of Draco's mouth turns up ever so slightly as he nods to us, and then disappears into the black. I'm not sure if it was another famous Malfoy smirk or a genuine Draco smile.

I'll call it a smile.


End file.
